


Lights Up

by ussgallifrey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Family, Awkward Flirting, Broadway, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Español | Spanish, F/M, Fluff, Hamilton References, Musical References, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26122726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussgallifrey/pseuds/ussgallifrey
Summary: It’s thanks to over a half year of chance encounters that Bucky finally works up the courage to ask the girl with the strawberry-scented perfume out for coffee. Or, how Bucky Barnes started dating a Broadway actress.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Lights Up

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** The reader is of Puerto Rican and Dominican descent. She is described as having natural hair. But I've left the skin tone up to you. Picture her with golden brown skin or picture her as an ebony Latina goddess. Brown girl magic, baby. Don't like it? Pass on by.
> 
> **Playlist:** _[Here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4aP7iGfiJrU9hDU5fPG1gl?si=zvP1C8PKSYqNStR4GH8L1w)_

##  **_August, 2014_ **

The city comes to life under the tender touch of a summer sunrise - a heavenly caress of violet and fuchsia streaking across the skyline with the golden rays of daybreak slowly creeping past the horizon of the East River. While the heavy pull of humid heat won’t rear its ugly head until the later hours of the morning, there’s still that slightly uncomfortable blanket of late August weather hugging at the clothes of passersby. The thin sheen of sweat appearing far too soon in the day for anyone’s comfort.

But Manhattan rises with the blare of horns nonetheless as his feet hit the pavement outside of the tower. The air of the city fills his lungs as the automatic doors close behind him.

Sam’s on his left, stretching his neck side-to-side as he hypes up for the next hour or so of exertion. He has those cord-free white earbuds in and taps something on his digital watch before giving a confirming nod. The newly formed wordless communication allows them to weave their way into the crowd and begin their run without straining groggy morning vocal cords.

Though Sam is usually content to spend this time listening to one of the many albums that he likes to circulate through, Bucky rather enjoys reacquainting himself with the city. It’s not as different as he would have thought. Louder, perhaps more than anything. He’s grown better around the frequent sirens, but cars still backfire or rattle, the mechanical grating of constant construction. _But_ it’s still familiar. 

It’s also a way to bridge that relationship with Sam - bonding without being forced into a conversation outside of the usual: _“Coffee? Another mile? You good?”_ Which sometimes even feels like more than he can truly handle at 5 am. But it’s more tolerable than runs with Steve - who always seems to be attempting some pathetic form of counseling with an equally tight-lipped smile that never inspires much ease in Bucky.

Like he’s not matching the undetermined expectations of his friend - not hitting the rungs on the ladder of “recovery” at the preferred speed. That’s why he runs with Sam. At least he knows that this daily joint exercise comes with almost zero expectations. Though he swears that Sam is determined to get him to crack a smile or laugh at least once before they return to the glistening beacon that is Avengers Tower. But Bucky tries to ignore that notion and let the day play out.

Their path is never the same. Sometimes they hit the East Village or Midtown. They’ve traveled most of the Upper East _and_ West Side. They’ve gone as far as Harlem to the north, Downtown Brooklyn to the south, and Hunter’s Point to the east. It’s a damn good way to re-familiarize yourself with the city.

But honestly, the easiest route (one that Sam seems to favor above the others) is doing a straight shot lap around Central Park. There’s more than enough trails and paths, new and old sights for Bucky to (re)discover. People who don’t, for the most part, seem that interested in the two sweaty superheroes running by. Again, this is a different scenario when Steve is involved.

“ _That is a spectacularly beautiful shot, by the way,_ ” Stark had smirked as he flipped his phone around to show off the rough-looking photos taken by a paparazzi of him and Steve while running. The latter of which, in the majority of the pictures, had tried to block Bucky’s face with his hands and a very stern look towards the photographer.

He’s pretty sure the headline read something like: _**Captain America Breaks Journalist’s Camera in Attempt to Hide Known Terrorist**_.

He stopped running with Steve after that point.

The SHIELD-appointed therapist had been the one who recommended doing outside runs instead of beating on the tower’s many treadmills. Something about being around regular everyday people, but still being able to maintain control of his activities and who he chose to interact with (if anyone).

It was baby steps, of course. And sure it took a while to get used to the frequent clicks of a phone’s camera or the gasps of surprise or even the occasional _“hey, isn’t that…?”_ But it was something and it was happening at his pace.

They successfully lap around the lake before Sam finally makes a dismissive hand wave in Bucky’s direction. They slow to a walk as the other man takes in long breaths - sweat beading upon his skin. The heat is starting to prickle more uncomfortably at their bodies now and Bucky has to tighten the band holding his hair back - a few strands stubbornly stick to his forehead in protest.

It’s slightly indulgent for him, taking in the sounds of the boats on the lake or the smell of the flowers along the path. You don’t realize how some of the most mundane things hold actual beauty until your ability to bear witness to them is taken from you. So he indulges where he can.

Lingers on the dancing rays of sunlight filtering through the breaks in the treetops, the gentle splashes that come from an oar dipping through the cool water, the feeling of his feet on the hard pavement, the drip of sweat down his neck.

As they diverge closer to the road - a stretch they haven’t actually taken before - they circle around a large black and white mosaic where Sam manages out a: “ _Lennon_.”

And when Bucky only gives him a questioning look in return, Sam takes another deep breath, “Musician.”

Something to look up later then. But it’s enough conversation for now, so Bucky merely nods and they continue down the path.

Even the birds seem agitated by the heat as they chirp in patches of shade along the sidewalk, only taking a measly hop back when the men pass them. They see the usual people - a jogging woman with a wide-eyed kid in a stroller, a skateboarder who weaves between them without warning, and the clear sound of a busking guitarist can be heard when they pass by a path to the fountain.

And while there are no less than seventeen Starbucks on their way back to the tower, not to mention a handful of local places and a few Dunkin Donuts as well, Sam ends up steering them to a cafe in the park.

Normally Bucky would hold off on food until they get back to the tower, preferring to have full control over his own meal prep, but he knows that there are some _unsaid_ expectations at play. So, he manages to order an apple turnover - because it’s not outrageously overpriced compared to the rest of the bakery options - and a coffee for himself before heading back to the outdoor seating. Sam, who has finally regained a steady breathing pattern, orders something more substantial for himself. 

Another familiar ritual now takes place where they sit opposite each other at the metal table and people watch. Slowly working their way through breakfast as the sun finally rises higher in the sky and a warm breeze rustles through the shading trees.

His gray shirt clings to his sweaty skin, but Bucky leans back in the chair all the same. Not even bothered by the hot coffee warming him up further. He’d rather be drenched in the summer heat than the alternative of… well, that’s not a thought for right now. 

Sam watches a group of tourists passing by behind him - Bucky can tell it’s tourists, without even sparing a glance over his shoulder, based on the rapid-fire argument taking place over where to go first and if those carriage rides are even worth it. His companion has a smirk in place as he drinks from his own cup of coffee but otherwise remains silent - much to Bucky’s relief.

There’s a guy, at Sam’s one, who’s furiously typing on a laptop while arguing with someone on a phone and Bucky can almost pick up what the caller is saying - something about battery life and charging cables - when a sudden brush of artificial strawberry in the air pulls at his attention.

Scanning the small group of fellow patrons, he follows the fragrance’s trail to the figure of a young woman who settles in at a table a few feet behind Sam. Her long hair is draped over one shoulder as she bounces her leg anxiously, playing with the straw of her pink drink.

Bucky finally takes a testing bite of the apple turnover as he averts his blatant staring, choosing to watch a flock of morning joggers huff past in their matching outfits, then takes another slow sip of coffee for good measure. 

His gaze drifts across the patio as a waitress brings out something sweet-smelling and covered in fruit a few minutes later, dropping it off at the girl’s table. She smiles at the woman before cutting into her meal.

Her vibrantly dark eyes scan the park goers before falling to her phone’s notification alert, which she seems to smirk at. Bucky observes this above the rim of his cup. Sam’s attention is drawn to his own phone that’s started vibrating angrily on the table. 

He blinks at the text before muttering, “ _Not a damn intern_.”

When he shuts the screen off, he answers the unasked question with a noncommittal wave of the hand, “Barton expects a coffee run.”

That manages to make even Bucky scoff. Steering his gaze back out at the kids playing frisbee on the nearby hill, taking another drink of the straight black coffee as his mind wanders.

By the time they’re down to the last few bites of food and their drinks are lukewarm at best, Sam excuses himself to the bathroom. This leaves Bucky alone at the table, which doesn’t happen nearly as often as you would think - at least when out in public, that is. It makes the hair on his arm and neck stand on end as he feels the nonexistent eyes on him; watching and waiting.

He lets his non-metal fingers drum against the edge of the table as the breakfast he consumed, just moments before, sours slightly in his stomach. After a moment, his eyes scan the warm shaded area again. Bucky sees that everyone is fully engrossed in their own lives and aren’t even paying him any attention, but it’s harder to get the years of brainwashed training to shut up and actually see that. 

It’s something that his therapist said would take time to adapt to. But he’s not feeling like the most patient of people right now.

When he glances over at the long-haired woman, he bites his tongue at the realization that she’s looking at him. She offers a warm smile his way, before giving her attention back to her phone and breakfast. Troubling is the fact that it makes him feel even less at ease, the illogical thought that she somehow knows how fast this anxiety is flowing through him.

And it’s not like he makes a habit of focusing on any one person when they’re out. Any single individual could hold his attention for a short while. The kid sitting on his dad’s shoulders with ice cream slowly dripping down his fingers. The weird street performance mime who looks like the true definition of a tortured artist. The little old woman who always sits by the carousel to feed the birds, no matter what day they run through the park.

But it’s only ever been a fleeting moment or two where someone was able to capture his attention away. He honestly can’t figure out why he keeps drawing his focus back to this one girl in particular.

It’s only when more time passes that he toys with the idea that Sam has purposefully left him here. A bit of panic starts to rise up along his spine, making his shoulders hunch up further. Then he really has to focus on proper breathing techniques to stay even mildly level-headed.

It’s in that moment when a shockingly cheerful voice sings out, “ _Good morning, Va-nessa!_ ” just behind him and Bucky has to grip the edge of his chair to remain seated in it.

A man carrying an obscene amount of notebooks shuffles past him, coming to a stop in front of the woman, still singing, “ _If it isn’t the loveliest girl in the pl-ace!_ ”

Honestly, what kind of person has that kind of cheery demeanor at this point in the day?

Bucky can name maybe two people off the top of his head who would be this bright-eyed right about now. And actually, he has to stop himself from turning around to look for a camera because no sane person - a New Yorker, at that - would be greeting someone in song-form without an ulterior motive. 

The girl doesn’t seem phased in the slightest, though she has the decency to roll her eyes, kicking out the chair opposite hers with one of her white sneakers. Drawing her bare arms across her chest only when the guy sits down.

“Has that ever worked for you?”

Her companion laughs and Bucky wonders why he can’t look away from the sweet trilling of words that falls from those particular lips.

The guy deposits his pile of notebooks down and a little too sweetly says, “Hello, _cariño_.”

At least he can see her reaction, which comes in the form of a fake gagging motion.

“You honestly disgust me.”

She manages a blank expression for a moment before it breaks into the most brilliant of smiles - one that Bucky feels oddly grateful to be witness to.

Shaking her head before moving her near-empty plate to the side, she places her chin in her hands, staring up at the man.

“I was promised wonder and amazement and I don’t wake up before seven for just _anyone_.”

The guy laughs, pulling a notebook from the pile and Bucky catches the glint of a wedding ring in the sunlight, “And I don’t _stay_ awake for just anyone - ”

“¡Ay, Dios mío! You can’t keep doing that - you’re not even doing a show right now!”

“ _Actually_ \- ”

The sound of Sam laughing is the only thing capable of pulling Bucky’s gaze from the girl. He spots his companion under the cafe’s awning, smiling down at a blushing waitress. Bucky smiles gently at that before glancing down at his own hands in his lap - his left curled into a tight metal fist.

And then a sharp, “¡No jodes!” Which is followed by more snickering and laughing from the two patrons who are fully submerged in their own little world.

“You are gonna love this, trust me.”

“Well, _I_ think you’ve finally lost your damn mind, Viejo!”

“You good?”

Sam is suddenly standing next to the table, twiddling a scrap of paper between his fingers and wearing a pleased smile.

Bucky throws the other table a final look - watching the way the girl gently slaps the guy’s arm in response to something he said that made her laugh again. Focusing a little too long on the woman’s hands - spotting a blue jeweled ring on her right index finger.

“ _Yeah_ , I think I’m good.”

Sam carefully touches his shoulder with the back of his hand and they’re off, walking away from the seating area before breaking into an easy jog. Bucky tries to ignore the sensation still on his shoulder from the unanticipated touch and the equally strange, but pleasant, feeling in his chest.

* * *

##  **_September_ **

The zoo isn’t too crowded today, with it being the middle of the week and all, but Wanda still gravitates towards his side. Bucky finds his right shoulder being nudged by the side of her head as they close in on the snow monkey exhibit. He pulls the brim of his cap a little lower and keeps his gaze down as they pass a small group of people. 

Wanda holds next to none of his hesitancy as she all but flings herself at the barrier with a sweet cooing noise. He supposes everyone handles periods of tower-based isolation differently and where he’s more the type to dip his toe in and test the waters, Wanda dives in head first - not even outwardly bothered by the possibility of being recognized out in public.

Whoever thought Bucky would be a suitable companion for the young mutant seriously needs a psychological evaluation because… _what?_ Was it just that the shared ex-HYDRA thing was supposed to give them strong camaraderie? Not to mention the complete polar opposite, well, everything about them.

Though she’s oddly courteous with his silence and dislike for “hard” physical touches - something she seems inclined to do with almost everyone else. It might have something to do with those powers of hers, being able to read surface emotions with ease. He probably gives off flashing warning signs whenever someone draws too close to his personal space.

It’s also not that he’s complaining entirely about the situation because he likes Wanda for what it’s worth. And his therapist is always encouraging him to work on building relationships outside of his core support group. He also has a strong inclination that Wanda’s therapist was recommending something similar for her, but they both decidedly chose not to comment on it.

And since no one had been eagerly jumping up at the opportunity to sightsee in Central Park with her that morning, somehow he had found himself, rather shockingly, agreeing when she asked him. 

Maybe it was the sad eyes and that sense that she was ready for another rejection already settled in on her face that had him putting the newspaper down, having FRIDAY silence the music he was listening to - the last parts from the Abbey Road album - and grabbing his hat. Whatever it was, he just knew he didn’t want to see her stuck inside with a heavy cloud over her head for one more day.

Bucky idly watches one of the monkeys as it stares at him from the top of the rocky terrain in the enclosure, scratching at its own ass.

They wander through the rest of the small zoo and just when Bucky thinks they’re ready to leave, even if it’s just to wander around the gift shop for the next hour, Wanda shakes her head - insisting on checking out the children’s zoo as well.

“It has goats, Sergeant. We are going.”

And that’s about as much say as he gets in the decision as she determinedly walks ahead while his mouth is still left hanging open in protest.

This part of the zoo has the primary farm-based animals, with an emphasis on the hands-on petting and feeding experience. It’s also considerably busier with a crowd of barely knee-high tikes toddling around. Wanda’s completely enthralled by it though and even Bucky can’t help but crack a small smile when a particularly rowdy tawny-colored goat insists on butting its head against his hand.

There’s an obvious name in his head, if he were to name the goat, that is. Steven G. Rogers seems obviously appropriate as the animal headbutts another goat that’s hogging the food trough.

It’s only when the rather sharp cry of a toddler falling down has Bucky pulling his attention away, lifting his head up and scanning the scene, that a light whiff of artificial strawberry catches his attention above the smells of a farm pen. He straightens right up, suddenly more alert of his surroundings.

A moment of scanning through the crowd leads him to a woman crouching down near the alpacas, a little girl standing in front of her is trying to shove her finger through the fencing to pet the fuzzy white animal. 

And there’s such a high possibility of this just being a moment of universal coincidence - how many women could have that same perfume in the Manhattan area? At least a certain percentage, right?

Upon further staring, Bucky is aware that this woman seems to fit the same description of the woman from the park last month. Except for the hair. It’s shorter, almost to her shoulders, in natural tight curls.

But as the alpaca nudges the little girl’s hand, the woman laughs, and he just instantly knows that it’s the same person.

She says something to the girl that makes her break out in giggles. The thrum of his heartbeat fills his senses. Bucky also notes the others around her, all with the same rich colored skin and natural dark hair. Her family, if he was to hazard a guess. 

Of course, it’s in that moment of him openly staring that she lifts her head up and catches his eye with a curious smile. He has the self-consciousness to look away, but he can still sense her gaze.

When he turns back to Wanda, who is now looking around at the other exhibits, he finds himself oddly grateful when she tugs him by his shirt sleeve to look at the pond.

Being pulled away means he doesn’t see the woman’s reaction, naturally. And when they circle back to the farm animals, he only catches a glimpse of her disappearing through the crowd near the exit. The strange twinge in his stomach is something he tries very hard to ignore. 

They eventually find their way to the gift shop, where Wanda keeps handing him more and more ridiculous animal hats to try on in place of his black cap. He lets it play out and really tries to go with the flow, as his therapist says.

She’s now browsing through the keychains and trinkets though - after Bucky flat out refused to put on the light-up flamingo hat (the zoo doesn’t even _have_ flamingos). 

He has his hands comfortably tucked into his pockets, content to watch the other shoppers, as he stands near the long wall of stuffed animals. Eying a particularly furry white wolf with giant glittery blue eyes, before quickly dismissing any thoughts of buying something over five dollars. Almost thirty dollars for a plushie the size of his hand was honestly _insane_.

But then his gaze falls to a rush of brown curls pressing by and the excited squeals of a child, pointing up at the very large and very sparkly lion at the top of the display.

This is quickly followed by an exasperated, “¡Nena!”

And then the woman with the eye-catching hair is rounding the book display, searching for the little girl, who pushes past Bucky again to grab the woman’s hand - barely able to contain her excitement as she points up at the toy.

“¡Es muy bonito! Yo quiero eso, por favor.”

The woman looks at the large toy and then back to the girl, “Uh… _Nena_. Es… demasiado caro.”

The girl is tenacious, tugging hard on the woman’s hand as she whines, “¡Por favor!”

It’s when the girl has almost backed into Bucky entirely, who has been incapable of removing himself from the moment, that the woman seems to acknowledge that they aren’t alone in the toy aisle.

Her sculpted brows raise and her dark eyes widen. The girl is quickly ushered behind her and Bucky braces himself. Judging by the expression on her face, he almost expects her to scream in realization of who is standing there - the arm is definitely a giveaway. But instead, she says -

“I’m so sorry about that! She’s just never been _here_ before and we seem to keep losing her and,” seemingly exasperated, she tugs on the girl’s hand, “¡Debes pedirle disculpas!”

And by this point, Bucky will claim to be in a complete state of shock.

Because that _voice_ is like nothing he’s ever heard before and the intensity of her gaze - even though it’s being directed at the girl and not him - is almost heartstopping in its beauty.

So much so that he almost misses the little voice stubbornly muttering, “Lo siento, señor.”

He kind of internally flusters as his mind catches up to the moment and Bucky almost thinks he’ll just stand there gaping helplessly. But he manages to swallow those nerves away and answers, “No hay problema,” with what he hopes registers as a smile.

At this point, the girl has fulfilled her obligation and runs off through the gift shop once again before anyone can stop her. But the woman, with her beautiful dark eyes, has this look on her face. Being both surprised and… pleased? 

He almost can’t handle the intensity of her smile, but at the same time, he knows he would kick himself for it later if he dared look away now.

And then, from the other side of the shop, a name is called out, and she regretfully turns at the sound of it. He memorizes the name to heart as she turns back with an apologetic smile.

“Again, sorry about that,” she gestures to where the girl ran off to.

He nods, but neither of them makes a move to leave. And he really, _really_ wishes he could know why she’s staring at his eyes so intently. But when her name is called once again, with a little more urgency, he averts his gaze. 

She huffs a little noise of annoyance and Bucky glances back up in time to see her parting smile as she returns to her group.

He chooses to ignore Wanda’s knowing look when he spots her at the end of the row with a knitted black and white penguin hat on her head. Instead, choosing to ask if she was ready yet while keeping his tone light and slightly clipped to mask the harsh beating in his chest.

When they head for the exit, he tries his best to hide the surge of disappointment that comes with not being able to catch a final glimpse of _her._

* * *

##  **_November_ **

Natalia walks with an air of purpose - as long as he’s known her, she has. Maybe that was all her or maybe it was just instinctive based on years of training. But as they move through the park, people seem inclined to part for her. Maybe it’s from a place of celebrity recognition or maybe it’s just that level of confidence she gives off.

Whatever it is, the number of people seems to fade as the venture further into the scenic areas of the park. 

“I’d take the offer if our roles were reversed.”

Bucky grunts, because he can, and focuses instead on the fallen leaves; brittle in their nature now. The cool wisp of wind in the air that makes him shiver. And decidedly _not_ on the metal arm in question, holding it even more rigidly at his side as they walk.

She continues after a moment, “If Tony thinks he can do something about it, then he probably can. If you ask nicely, he might not even paint it red and gold.”

He stops, the whirring metal gears of his hand close into a cold fist. She turns to look at him with her usual calculating green stare that doesn’t give anything away.

“It's…” he doesn’t know why he feels a clinch in his throat or a burn at his eyes, but he forces it down as quickly as he can. “It’s too _much_.”

Natalia crosses her arms, “Topically speaking? Or is this like a thing about extended generosity still?”

“Both?” he pathetically manages with a choked breath.

There are two rules in his mind when it comes to this particular… extremity. Don’t touch it and don’t talk about it. You would think this would be easy for everyone to follow. After a few months of this, most of his circle has figured it out. But people like Stark, who are fascinated by the mechanical aspects of his arm, well… they don’t get it.

It’s too much. Between the memories that come with it. The fact that it’s his fucking arm. He’d like to hide it and pretend nothing’s out of the ordinary and just _move_ on from it.

She coos, carefully placing a hand on his right arm - the warmth of his coat keeps the touch from being too troublesome for his taste. After a tense breath of a moment, she guides him forward.

“Did I tell you about the Wildberry Poptart incident?”

And just like that, she breaks off into a story about Thor, who Bucky has only ever seen once in his time at the tower, and his ongoing obsession with a certain processed breakfast food. She knows when to push and when to pull back. For now, he lets her loop her arm through his as she leads them through the gardens, elaborating on the amusing story. 

Where beautiful and elaborate flowers usually adorned the maze of pathways, everything is now barren. Even the hedges have lost their bright green vibrancy. This time of season dulls everything, particularly his mood - that’s a recent discovery. Probably something to do with the cooler temperatures, the dulled colors surrounding him. But Natalia takes it in stride. Always has.

They pause in front of the small fountain. He thinks the statue of dancing children seems familiar in his mind, but he really can’t remember for sure if he’s ever seen this one before - in this life or the last. Sometimes, those greatly distant memories are just too far from his reach - no matter how hard he tries to pull them back up.

There’s a soft buzz of music in the distance, but he can’t make out the words. But it’s pleasant, just far enough away that it’s not bothersome. An older couple walks by with a polite nod.

She leans against his shoulder, and though his eyes are now trained on the gray sky, he catches the bright red of her hair blowing in the wind. 

This feels… familiar. In a good way. But even this, he can’t seem to recall. And he thinks the same can be said for her. Where Natalia naturally falls to his side, seems less hesitant in her touches compared to the others. But neither of them can name it, or remember its origin. So, they don’t speak about it. 

“You have a fan.”

She says it in the same way one comments on the weather - a slightly bored, if not marginally amused, tone.

That brings his gaze down, trying to catch her smirking expression as she gazes up at the fountain statue.

“At your nine. Keeps craning her head, like she thinks it might be us, but isn’t completely sure. Oh, or maybe - yup, called it. That’s a phone.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. There was a reason he didn’t like leaving the tower that often. And particularly in the presence of fellow Avengers.

What he really wanted was images of him and Natalia plastered across the internet this morning, insinuating that he was in a budding romance with yet another one of his friends. Right now, he’s totaling three girlfriends and at least two boyfriends - and a possible side-fling with Barton - according to _The Daily Bugle_ ’s top-notch reporting. But candid photos of him are better than what they were reporting back in the spring, so he’ll take it.

Natalia makes a curious little humming noise. And when he tries to ask, she just shakes her head, her brows pinched in slight confusion. 

“I assumed that was a terrible attempt at amateur photo journaling, but she’s actually just FaceTiming.”

Her expression plays as _“huh, go figure”_ and that makes Bucky scrunch his brows. Because he can’t help but look over at the girl now. And boy, was that a hell of a dumb idea. 

Because there she is. 

The woman he hasn’t seen in two months - not for lack of trying on his behalf. He’d been doing the morning run through the park completely solo, since Sam was getting tired of the same route lately, and he hadn’t caught sight of her once. Hell, he even asked Wanda to go back to the zoo, purely on a hopeful whim, and still nothing. 

But there she is now. Just sitting in a relatively abandoned part of the park. Wrapped in a puffy orange jacket with a giant black binder open on her lap. Twirling a yellow highlighter with her free hand, a tangle of headphone cord from her ears connecting to her phone as she speaks.

And if he tries, if he really strains his abilities, he can just catch a whiff of her perfume with the late autumn breeze. Meanwhile, her voice is easily clear, even though she’s quite a distance away and speaking in - 

Natalia tilts her head curiously, “Is that - ?”

He nods, already anticipating the question, “Spanish.”

The woman is conversing in rapid-fire with the caller and shaking her head, making the dark curls on her head bounce back and forth. And he can’t look away.

It’s purely out of habit that they’re eavesdropping on the conversation.

“¡No, _no_!” She’s cut off by the other person, choosing to bite her lip as she waits to jump back in. 

Bucky can’t look away.

She nods a few times before seizing the opportunity to reply, “ _Sí_ , lo siento - ¡Espere!”

She pauses again as the other person says something and then she breaks into a bright smile and a warm laugh.

Bucky can’t help but tense up as a little gasp escapes his lips.

“Wait.”

He looks back down at Natalia and is disturbed to realize that he had just been staring at the woman again. Like some sort of weirdo, or a hyper-attentive ex-Russian operative. And worse yet, Natalia had enough time to read any and all tells he may have given away in that unguarded moment.

“You have that look like you know her. Do you have a - **oh** , you _do_.”

He can’t help the groan that surfaces, “I don’t.”

Bucky tries to sidestep her, tries to leave and get out of the situation entirely, but she’s fast when she’s determined. Able to stop him merely by getting close to his chest - no attack training necessary. 

She smirks with her perfect matte red lips, looking up at his tense expression, “No, that’s good though, right? Have you told Melissa about that revelation?”

There’s burning amusement in her eyes and he can already picture the trouble that’s in store for him if this somehow was shared with the rest of the tower residents.

“First of all, my _therapist_ doesn’t need to know about this because there is nothing to know about - revelation or otherwise.”

Natalia’s mouth makes a surprised little ‘O’ and she nods, green eyes sparkling despite the overcast skies. 

“ _Right_. And that is, of course, true because you tend to talk at length these days in matters of truth.”

And then it’s his turn to gape like a dumb fish. Because she has a point; he doesn’t really talk much. And that, probably, is the most put-together thing he’s managed in… days?

She takes a measure of pity on him, wrapping her hands around his right bicep. Making sure his eyes are focused on her face before speaking.

“Having a crush is _okay_ , James. And,” she loosens her grip, “if you ever feel the need to discuss that with anyone…”

She leaves it open-ended on purpose. And Bucky both loves and hates her for it.

Her hand drags down his arm, the tips of her fingers gentle against the pad of his gloved palm as she backs away, allowing him his space once more.

“Anyway,” she smiles. “She’s pretty cute.”

Admittedly, the eye roll is for dramatic effect, but because of that, he takes a chance to look back at the woman. And if his heart rate picks up a marginal amount when she laughs at the person on her phone, then he tries not to focus on it too much. Nor when she manages to sneak a look his way before replying back to her video call.

* * *

##  **_January, 2015_ **

Sometimes, he doesn’t actually feel like walking the insane difference back to the tower where his usual train takes out from. That’s a new revelation; in two parts. The first being that he, as of the 2nd, now has a place in Brooklyn and is only spending a small portion of his time at the tower.

The second being that he now feels comfortable in the fact that he can take the lazy option. He’s entitled to that, in some sense, to take an easy way out - even if it just means catching the train from the place by his therapist’s office instead of the one by the tower.

And he’s proud of that. It might seem small and inconsequential to just about any other person on the planet, but for him? Yeah, it’s a bit of a big deal.

Not to mention, this station is right off Times Square. And when he had first gone down 42nd street, he had some serious doubts about this spur decision. Surrounded by all of the bright lights that made up the Theater District and, not to mention, the swarms of _people_.

But now? Now it’s okay. It’s good. He can do this and handle this and it's… good.

And while most of the theaters are finishing up their evening shows, and the main rush hour workers are now home, the station is peacefully quiet and sparsely busy. That makes things easier on his admitted anxiety as he shuffles through the turnstiles. 

There’s only a sprinkling of commuters waiting on the platform under the flickering lights. And his train isn’t due for another fifteen minutes - just before the hour, thankfully, when a rush of people should flood the area.

So, Bucky waits. Tries his best to remain inconspicuous while also detailing the layout, camera setups, available exits, and all individuals in the immediate vicinity - purely out of habit, not true personal intentions or interest of course. 

The screech of the adjacent train pulling into the station is enough entertainment to pass the time. The four other people on the platform enter the set compartments and disappear down the tunnel after only a few moments. It’s then when he’s left alone with his thoughts on the eerily empty platform - trapped by the chipped yellow lines, echoing silence, and social etiquette.

The gentle vibration of his phone in his front pocket actually startles him, _marginally_ , but he relaxes with a breath. Knowing it’s just one of the few contacts checking if the session went okay and if he’s good to get home on his own. Even after all this time, they still rotate through every Friday night after his therapy appointment. He can feel the gratitude that comes with that fact now, it took some time, but he can.

If he doesn’t respond back, he’ll know to expect an evac to his last known location, so he tries to dig out the phone with his heavy gloves.

Ripping off his right one with his mouth to reply back to, this time, Steve. And he’s halfway through typing.

_At the station now, clear head and easy thoughts. Didn’t run over the time for once._

When a distant humming fills his ears and he looks over towards the stairs - phone in hand, glove in mouth - as the singer bounces down the concrete steps.

_“Look into your eyes and the sky’s the limit, I’m helpless. Down for the count and I’m drowning in 'em.”_

The woman with the sweetest voice finally comes into view. With her hair slicked back into a giant curly ponytail and earbuds in, she’s completely oblivious to him standing there looking like a complete fool. 

Her voice is soft enough that a normal person with normal hearing abilities would only be able to make out the melody. But Bucky doesn’t have normal hearing abilities, so he’s privy to the full spectrum of her talent. 

She jumps off the last two steps, humming along to the song, and twirling around before coming to a stop with a shocked screech as she sees another passenger just staring at her.

Averting her eyes and hiding her face with a pink gloved hand as she faces the other train platform. 

Bucky hits _send_ on his text, pockets his phone and his glove, and takes a step towards her without really thinking about what the hell he was possibly thinking of accomplishing with that action.

There’s a sharp intake of a shuddering breath, her shoulders clearly tense as she speaks, “Either pretend that didn’t just happen or ask for an autograph.”

A slow blink is all he can manage as he looks at her worn teal backpack and thin wool coat.

“It was pretty.”

She snorts a laugh, pulling her earbuds free and wrapping them around her phone, and he doesn’t know how to properly respond past this point.

It takes a moment, and she still isn’t facing him, but she says, “I’m usually afforded an empty platform.”

At that, Bucky sheepishly ducks his head, “I interrupted your concert then?”

Another laugh and then she turns to look at him - a bit of leftover snow flying off her sneakers as she does - and he can’t help but wonder how cold she must be right now, if the near-freezing temperature is bothering her as much as it does him.

“A pre- _pre_ -Broadway performance maybe,” her smile is shy, but her eyes are bright in the flickering lighting.

His eyebrows hitch a little higher at that, “Broadway, huh?”

She hums sweetly, “Should feel honored that you caught an early preview.”

A laugh escapes him without pretense and she beams.

It’s then that the screech of an incoming train pulls both of their attention away as a light rounds the tunnel near her side of the platform. The train break’s squeal as it comes to a stop. Only a few passengers exit onto the platform and her returning smile says what he already knows.

“This is me,” she gestures behind her at the open doors of the train.

Bucky glances over at the column with the train listings, quickly scanning through the lines.

“Harlem?” he reads off.

She takes a step back towards the train, pausing with a moment’s hesitation before bouncing a step forward with a determined breath. Her eyes flicker across his face with a look that screams _what the hell am I doing_.

And when she opens her mouth, Bucky really isn’t expecting her to reply in song form. 

_“Even farther than Harlem, to northern Manhattan and maintain. Get off at 181st, and take the escalator. I hope you’re writing this down, I’m gonna test ya later.”_

If it’s physically possible, his brows inch even higher on his face.

In a rush of embarrassment or nerves, she laughs, spinning around and walking towards the train without another word. 

And with that, Bucky finds himself laughing as well. His eyes flicker down and then back up in time to see her standing in front of the closed train door.

She hides a laugh with her gloved hand before giving a lazy two-fingered salute his way. And he laughs again, loud and unrestrained and so incredibly freeing in its sudden unabashedness.

Bucky tucks his hands into his coat pockets as the train leaves the station and her curly hair and bright smile disappear with it. But his smile stays. All the way back to Brooklyn.

* * *

##  **_February_ **

Bucky definitely hadn’t been looking forward to his therapy appointments after that last chance encounter at the train station. 

It was so very lucky that he was able to wrap up his Friday evening appointment in time before the, later-dubbed, Snowpocalypse hit the city. He had been rushing down the stairs, determined to make his train before everything in the city inevitably shut down. But he’d been in such a hurry, he had almost knocked right into her - barely coming to a full stop before impact.

Bucky had given an awkward laugh and a _sorry about that_ as he straightened up and brushed his hair back. To which she just smirked and asked if he missed her free concerts that much. And then they were both talking about the weather and the incoming storm system and then his train pulled up and he really _really_ didn’t want to leave - despite how the cold air was pricking his skin and seeping into his bones. Somehow, his heart felt warm.

“ _Well, stay safe out there. Can’t have my favorite subway audience member getting lost in a blizzard,_ ” she had said, pulling the strap of her teal backpack a little tighter in her hands.

And he had said something really dumb, with a goofy blushing smile, like, “ _You bet_.”

That had been three weeks ago. Melissa had to reschedule and move appointments around because of the shutdown. And suddenly he was there on a Tuesday afternoon instead of his usual timeslot. Part of him almost wandered down to the station on Friday night, but the others knew about the change in his schedule and suddenly it was a “team-building night” at the tower.

That explains why he’s currently in Greenwich Village with Clint, of all people, staring up at a plain-looking apartment building. 

He can see his own breath in the air and he hates this required outing even more than when it was pitched to them all. He tries to take comfort in the idea that Tony is currently suffering and likely rolling his eyes next to Steve somewhere in the city. But that was his own fault, playing at friendship building and then pulling straws to group up.

The blonde stares at him with comically wide eyes, “Why are you not appreciating this? It’s a cultural icon.”

Bucky huffs, pulling his scarf closer to his neck, “Elvis was a cultural icon, Babe Ruth - the player and the damn candy bars, Captain _Fucking_ America.”

“And,” Clint drawls. “The apartment from _Friends_.”

“It’s really not.”

“Oh, but it really is! That weekend watch party says so,” the other man huffs proudly.

Bucky rolls his eyes and starts walking away. Clint follows after with a guffawing sound, rushing to catch up to him.

“You _made me_ watch that.”

“Cultural. _Icon_ ,” Clint emphasizes in frustration, with lack of a better argument.

They walk in silence, through the dirty slush of snow. Clint brewing with annoyance before finally bubbling over two blocks later.

“The Comedy Cellar?”

He shakes his head, feeling the chill air bite his face, “Tower.”

“Jazz Club?”

Bucky glances over at him with a skeptical eyebrow raise, “You want to sit through a jazz set?”

Clint grunts, fumbles, then relents with a childish kick of his boot, “ _Well_ , I don’t see you coming up with any other genius ideas, ice pop.”

They pause at the cross light.

He shrugs, offering, “There’s a park a couple blocks up. We’ll tell them we learned a lot and have come out better people because of our time together.”

The other man snorts before relenting, “Can’t be any worse than what Steve-o’s subjecting Stark to.”

Bucky pictures the billionaire being subjected to art museums, boiled liver and onions, and old baseball cards from the 20s for some strange reason. Team building is an absolute fucking joke.

Washington Square Park is sparsely occupied today, another fresh coating of soft white glittering snow dusts the trees and lines the shoveled paths. The center fountain is turned off, but there are still a few people seated around the main gathering area.

“Ooh,” Clint’s attention turns towards a hot dog vendor and Bucky gives him an encouraging nod.

While the archer waits in the small line, Bucky circles the large fountain, shivering as he walks. He’s happily lost in his own thoughts, for a change, when he hears a sudden,

“Hey!”

Glancing up, he sees a woman in a bright orange coat waving at him. And then he registers her face as she walks a little faster towards him.

Her hair is all tucked up under a white knit hat and her smile is wide as she comes to a stop in front of him. Bucky hadn’t even realized he was smiling, but he softens when she looks up at him.

“My favorite audience member! I was starting to wonder if you got lost in that blizzard or not.”

Bucky ducks his head, “No, just been - schedules got moved around.”

She hums in understanding.

His fingers curl and flex in his coat pockets, glancing quickly over at the vendor to see where Clint is.

“Uh,” he hesitates as the familiar nerves start to creep in. “Uhm, what are you doing in Greenwich?”

There’s a styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand that she takes a sip from, snow dancing in the reflection of her dark eyes, “Noho, actually. I’m between shows.”

“Shows?”

The cup pauses halfway to her mouth, her sculpted brow raises curiously, “You really didn’t think I was playing about the pre-Broadway thing, did you?”

Actually, it _hadn’t_ occurred to him. 

He hears Clint’s laugh across the fountain, knowing his time is quickly running out.

“Uh,” Bucky laughs sheepishly, rubbing a gloved hand at the back of his neck.

She smiles, “Maybe you’ll just have to come for an actual performance sometime then. We’re at the Public, over on Lafayette.”

His brows crunch slightly. Was that… _no_. No, that couldn’t be like a date thing, right?

Instead of letting those thoughts entirely consume him, Bucky nods nonchalantly, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

She seems a little taken back and he doesn’t know if he’s completely botched this up, but she nods too. And then he does something really stupid. 

Because he’s been playing with this thing in his head for nearly half a year. Six months of chance encounters and maybe a handful of minutes of real conversation spread out over that time. But God help him if he doesn’t look around when he enters a store or a cafe and has that nagging hope that he might see her there. 

Maybe he’s reading it all wrong, maybe things have changed since he last did this, maybe he’s about to watch himself crash and burn in front of a very pretty girl. But he hears Clint’s voice once again and he just can’t let it sit until the next time they _might_ cross paths. 

“Actually, uh, I was wondering if you’d want to get coffee… sometime,” he says it so tensely it feels like he might have locked his jaw in place.

Bucky watches as her brows raise a little higher and her mouth opens in a small 'O’ shape, which she then closes and opens once more. And the amount of dread running through him is indescribable.

“Coffee?” her voice is stunted.

He nods, “Yeah.”

She takes a step back, eyes curiously trained on her sneakers and not his face. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip with a moment of contemplation. 

“I, uh, okay. Coffee,” she looks back up with a very reassuring smile, “I can do coffee.”

Bucky breathes an audible sigh of relief and it must show plainly on his face because she laughs. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes lightly, “I just don’t want to lead you on or anything. This show’s got me busy as hell - and that’s not to say _you_ aren’t busy. It’s just,” she pauses to breathe. Her dark eyes shine, “Coffee, with you, would be nice.”

Clint’s wrapping up with the vendor when he hands her his unlocked phone. She smirks as she types in her name and number.

She gives him an _I’ll see you soon_ and he wishes her luck with the show before she spins and walks away with a muffled giggle that makes his heart soar.

Clint slides up next to him a moment later with a mouthful of hotdog and a drop of ketchup on the side of his lip, “What was that about?”

He says it in a way that asks if someone was causing trouble, which Bucky is grateful for. But he just gives a shake of his head, says it was just someone wanting a picture - because he likes keeping this secret of his close to his chest.

So, Clint drops it and shovels the rest of his hotdog into his mouth and they head to the nearest train station in otherwise pleasant silence.

When they’re in the train, Bucky finally scrolls through his contacts. Enjoying the warmth of the subway car despite the hard seat. He spots her name easily, as it’s the only one with a set of musical note emojis after it. And he has to bite his lip to stifle the smile that wants to blossom.

It’s then that a text pops up.

> _I’m on again in 30 min. & I’m working till Wednesday. So… if you’re free then?_

With a hopeful looking yellow emoji tacked onto the end for good measure.

Bucky ducks his head to hide his obvious blush from Clint’s gaze, biting his own lip as he types out a reply - finding texting easier to handle than being stood in your presence.

_For you? Of course._

_Is 9am ok for you?_

He pockets his phone before his face turns entirely red, but even biting his lip can’t contain his giddy smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on my [Tumblr](https://ussgallifreyfics.tumblr.com).


End file.
